


All Before Watford

by MsNyx



Category: A Charm of Magpies Series - K. J. Charles
Genre: Dom/sub Undertones, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Missing Scene, Pining, Porn with Feelings, Stephen's heart is toast, Train Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-30
Updated: 2019-11-30
Packaged: 2021-02-26 00:41:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,170
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21614734
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MsNyx/pseuds/MsNyx
Summary: *That* train trip, back from Piper after the main events of The Magpie Lord.~~“Watford,” Merrick said, as the train pulled into the station.“Yes, thank you,” said Crane.“What about Watford?” asked Stephen, confused.“When this train gets to Watford, you two need to start putting your clothes back on,” said Merrick baldly.
Relationships: Stephen Day/Lucien Vaudrey
Comments: 10
Kudos: 99





	All Before Watford

The small country train station was as placid as could be expected. The ticket-master was jolly enough – although understandably a little awed by the personage of the Earl of Crane appearing on his platform – and the porter attentive. Despite the relative serenity of his surroundings, Stephen was filled with a nervous energy. Part of him refused to believe Lucien Vaudry, Lord Crane, would be so reckless as to risk public exposure by fulfilling his promise to Stephen by spending the entire three hour train journey to London making love to him. Another part of him – the part that was still smarting and bruised from being bent over an ancient lounge chair and fucked so hard the sodding thing collapsed in a pile of splintered, worm-eaten wood – was terrified and elated in equal parts. It did not help that Mr Merrick, Crane’s man, appeared to think Crane’s word was good.

“Watford,” Merrick said, as the train pulled into the station.

“Yes, thank you,” said Crane.

“What about Watford?” asked Stephen, confused.

“When this train gets to Watford, you two need to start putting your clothes back on,” said Merrick baldly. Stephen felt his face go warm. Mr Merrick may have accepted his master’s eccentricities with unusual equanimity, but Stephen belonged to a society where it was of the utmost importance to conduct such liaisons as he and Crane appeared to have begun in absolute secrecy. Plus there was also the matter of Merrick having yesterday burst in upon them in the library, convinced Crane’s life was in danger, only to find the magical activity that had suddenly gripped Piper was caused by a crisis of an entirely different nature. The heat in Stephen’s cheeks flared to think of Merrick kicking open the door and descending upon them, snarling like an enraged pit bull terrier. He’d been within a whisker of dragging Stephen – naked, reeling, dizzy with lust – out of Crane’s arms, and Stephen was reasonably sure it was only the sight of Crane’s tattoos – Crane, also magnificently naked – fluttering and hopping over the pair of them, that had stopped Merrick in his tracks. There had been a lot of yelling, most of it in Shanghainese, a significant proportion of which was probably profanities if the few English phrases the pair of them used during the distressing episode were anything to go by. Stephen, covered in animated magpies, sweat and other more unspeakable substances, had retreated behind the desk, scarlet with humiliation. He supposed he ought to be grateful Merrick was the only other person in the house at the time and, apparently, used to seeing such sights as Stephen and Crane had presented. But, it remained, Stephen was not used to being seen in such a state.

He followed Crane into the first class carriage, the entirety of which had been reserved by Crane.

“Door,” said Crane as he stowed their picnic basket on the racks above the plush, velvet seats and stepped across to the opposite side of the compartment. “Blinds,” he instructed Stephen as he snibbed the corridor-side door closed and pulled the blinds down firmly. Stephen did what he was told with slightly trembling hands, then took the precaution of surreptitiously sealing the doors with magic. As an afterthought he added an enchantment that ensured no one would hear or otherwise give a thought to what might be going on inside this compartment throughout the journey.

“I take it I may rely upon you to ensure we will not be disturbed?” asked Crane.

“Yes, of course,” said Stephen. _This is really happening._

“And there’s not too much iron in this carriage to disrupt the use of your powers?”

“No, I can manage.”

“Good. Take off your shirt, Mr Day. I want you naked and on your knees.”

 _Oh God._ There it was. The jolt of arousal tore through him with such intensity Stephen dropped onto a nearby seat like a stone.

“Now? Here? We haven’t even left the station!”

Crane looked down at him.

“There’s not a moment to lose, Mr Day,” he said. The smile he gave Stephen was positively diabolical and Stephen felt something inside him light up in response to it. “You heard Merrick. We’ll need to start making ourselves presentable once we pass Watford, although I dare say we could string it out to Edgeware.”

“That’s three hours away!” Stephen protested.

“Which is barely enough time to enact all the things I am going to do to you before we get there.” Crane folded his arms. “Now are you going to undress or do I have to strip you myself?”

Stephen began to address the buttons of his shirt with trembling hands. Appealing as the notion was of having Crane tear his clothes off him, Stephen was unable to resist the thrill of acquiescing. In one sense, Stephen’s submission was all illusion. They both knew, despite appearances, there was in practicality no way for Crane to force the smaller man to do anything he didn’t want to do – or to defend himself if Stephen decided he really wanted to do Crane harm. But Stephen was starting to wonder, after knowing the man for just over a week and having only succumbed to their mutual attraction in the last two days, if Crane _was_ in fact somehow capable of weaving some kind of spell of his own that rendered Stephen completely helpless in the face of his demands. By the time the whistle sounded and the train began to move, Stephen was, indeed, naked and on his knees with Crane’s beautiful cock in his mouth.

This was like nothing he’d ever done before.

It wasn’t as though he was a novice at this sort of thing, or even that he’d never had the pleasure of a partner who assumed a dominant role, but . . . _this?_ Kneeling entirely naked at another man’s feet– and _such_ a man! – while he stood over Stephen, fully clothed, nudging the head of his cock into the back of Stephen’s throat with deliberate languor. Feeling the slow slide of hard flesh over his tongue and tasting the hint of salt and musk that made his own cock rear up painfully hard, as Crane completely commandeered Stephen’s mouth for his own pleasure. To be the subject of such _leisurely_ subjugation and possession . . . _Christ,_ this was a kind of luxury Stephen had only occasionally visited in his wildest fantasies. He shuddered as he clung to Crane’s thighs, curling his tongue greedily around the head of Crane’s cock, his whole body gripped with a pricking, feverish heat. This didn’t feel like sex. It felt like worship. It felt _dangerous._

“You know, when I met you I thought you were an innocent,” murmured Crane, breaking through Stephen’s lust-hazed thoughts and running his left hand through Stephen’s close-cropped red hair. His right hand was gripping the baggage rack overhead to steady himself against the gentle sway of the moving carriage.

He pushed Stephen back a little. Just enough that Stephen was forced to relinquish him. Stephen felt his breath hitch with wanting. He wanted to lean forward and take Crane’s cock down again, but Crane was holding him back. Stephen turned his gaze up, feeling more like he was begging favours from some shining god than ever. Crane raised an eyebrow.

 _Oh._ He was expecting a response.

_Does the man ever lose his composure?_

Stephen licked at his lower lip. The heat in Crane’s eyes flared, but he didn’t let Stephen move closer.

“Most people do.”

Crane grinned down at him.

“You do like to be underestimated, don’t you?”

“It’s safer.”

“Is it?”

“Usually.”

Crane pulled him forward again and gave a voluptuous sigh as Stephen went back to work. Stephen could not resist casting a glance up at him. Crane eyes were closed, his head tipped back, thoroughly enjoying what Stephen was doing to him. Stephen couldn’t help but compare Crane’s languor to his own emphatic and all-too- swift response the first time Crane had sucked him off on the road back from Nethercote. Crane looked like a man who was settling in with every expectation of a protracted bout of pleasure.

_Am I being underestimated right now?_

_I wonder if I can . . . ?_

_He does like to be in control._

Stephen gripped Crane’s thighs, his fingers digging into the fabric of his open trousers. He changed his technique, trying his best to make Lucien lose his damn equilibrium.

“Oh . . . _yes_ . . .” That came out in a purr. Stephen looked up. Crane was looking down at him, his eyes half closed in lazy bliss.

_Damn you, Vaudry._

Stephen spent a good ten to fifteen minutes applying all his skill to denting Lucien’s smug control, but it seemed unshakeable. His cock was rock hard and his scrotum tight, but he barely even twitched as Stephen gave up teasing and tantalising for the more direct strategy of drawing back and then plunging Crane as deep into his throat as he could. Crane gave a luxurious, but otherwise unhurried, moan. Stephen whimpered frustration. He wanted to elicit a more emphatic reaction.

_It’s cheating._

Stephen did it anyway. He slid one hand into the open fly of Crane’s trousers and cupped his hand around Crane’s stones, knowing his own intense arousal would manifest in a sparking, fizzing exchange of power between his fingertips and Crane’s skin.

“ _Fuck!_ ” Crane jerked and his cock leapt in Stephen’s mouth. “You little . . . !”

His grip on Stephen’s head tightened as Stephen threw everything he had at this chink in Crane’s armour.

“ _Day!_ ” Crane growled menacingly through his teeth, but a moment later he made a noise of furious defeat as he spent himself into Stephen’s mouth. The rush of seed down his throat was immediately followed by a subdued roaring in his ears, not unlike the sound of a thousand magpies launching into flight at once, and Stephen’s vision momentarily went dark. He felt the torrent of power rush into him in a storm of black and blue. He sucked greedily at the last vestiges of Crane’s spend, until he heard the other man give a deep groan. Stephen blinked the last flutters of darkness from his eyes. Crane was staring down at him, eyes wide.

“God!” Crane sagged slightly, his chest heaving.

Stephen eased himself back, unable to help the smug smile that tugged at one corner of his mouth. His skin tingled and, sure enough, he saw a magpie tattoo wing its way up his arm.

“Yes, very clever of you,” said Crane darkly. He bent over Stephen, planting his hands on the seat cushions either side him. Stephen’s breath hitched anew. There was an inky flutter of movement at Crane’s throat, just above his collar, and Stephen could picture the magpies moving across Crane’s powerful chest. He raised his eyes to Crane’s.

“You’ve put me fifteen minutes ahead of schedule, you sodding rat,” Crane growled.

He leaned forwards and kissed Stephen, hard. Stephen made a brief noise that was a tangle of protest, capitulation and perishing desire. Without releasing him, Crane hunkered down and slid a hand behind his head. His kiss became ferocious. When stars began to bloom across Stephen’s vision for want of air, Crane relinquished his mouth. “You’ll have to pay for that, of course.”

“Sorry,” gasped Stephen entirely unrepentantly.

“No you’re not.” Crane pulled Stephen’s head back and assaulted his throat with a volley of tiny nips. Stephen yelped.

“Perhaps I ought to tie your hands together,” Crane mused.

“But then I couldn’t use them on you,” Stephen protested. “You _like_ my hands.”

“My point exactly. You’d get to see just exactly how long I could fuck you for, undistracted by your _very_ distracting fingers. Do you think you’d last until Watford, Mr Day?”

Stephen gave a delicious shudder at the thought.

“I don’t know,” he whispered.

“Hmmm.”

Crane stood, pulling him up. For a moment he seemed content to hold him, running his hand down Stephen’s rather prominent spine and over his lean, bare arse. Then he cupped his hand under Stephen’s buttocks and scooped him up, then sat down, tipping Stephen backwards so he lay along the length of the seat.

“Down you go,” he said conversationally. “Let’s see how long _you_ last, shall we?”

He pushed Stephen’s knees apart and ran a long, elegant finger down his _very_ erect cock.

“Oh God!” Stephen couldn’t help arching his back, tipping his groin up to the feather-light caress.

“Oh, you are gagging for it, aren’t you, Mr Day?” asked Crane approvingly. “Do tell me what you want. You may not get it, but I’d like to know.”

“Please,” moaned Stephen.

“Please what?”

“Please!”

“You really need to be more specific.”

“Please, Lucien, please suck my cock,” whispered Stephen.

“No. I’m afraid I haven’t scheduled anything like that for at least another twenty minutes,” said Crane triumphantly. “You are just going to have to wait.”

Crane did not make waiting easy. He moved one fingertip at a snail’s pace in a meticulous, intricate, meandering journey over Stephen’s balls and around the base of his cock, engorged now to the point of discomfort. Stephen whimpered and moaned and shivered and twitched as Crane twisted lovelocks into the sparse reddish curls over the most sensitive parts of his groin, and followed the seam of his scrotum down between his thighs. He pushed Stephen’s legs further apart and toyed with the tight whorl of his anus until Stephen was all but sobbing, then retraced his journey all the way back to the weeping, hypersensitive tip of his cock.

“Christ, Lucien, have pity!” begged Stephen, hips jumping, a new sweat breaking out over his skin as Crane moved that diabolical fingertip in tiny, slippery circles.

“Not today,” purred Crane. “I told you you’d have to pay. I’m not ready for you to come yet.”

Stephen stole a glance between his own spread knees to the open crotch of Crane’s trousers. He might not be ready, but he wasn’t far off. Despite the fact the taste of Crane’s seed was still potent in Stephen’s mouth, Crane’s cock looked far from dormant.

“Please!”

“Beg.”

Stephen arched his back.

“I am! Please! Please make me come!”

“No.”

Stephen moaned.

“But I will suck your cock, you dirty little witch. If you ask nicely.”

“Oh God. Please, my lord, please suck my cock! Please!”

 _There_. He’d said it. He’d almost promised himself he wouldn’t again it was _so_ . . . obeisant. He’d shocked himself the first time the words _my lord_ had come out of his mouth. He was a _justiciar_ for Christ’s sake! He wielded authority.

Crane was smiling. That cat-that-got-the-cream look that made Stephen’s knees weak.

“Do you promise not to come until I tell you to?”

Stephen whimpered. _How long is he going to string this out?_ It didn’t matter. He’d already surrendered.

“Yes. Yes, my lord. I promise,” Stephen whispered.

Crane bent over him. Instead of his mouth on Stephen’s cock, though, Stephen felt Crane’s tongue, deft and clever, lave the tight, aching pouch of his balls. He cried out, half in pleasure, half in frustration.

“Oh, very good,” murmured Crane, almost inaudible. “Beautiful boy.”

Stephen writhed and Crane held his knees wide, and Stephen cried out and whimpered and moaned as Crane did with his tongue everything he’d just been doing with his fingertips. By the time Crane condescended to take Stephen’s poor, aching cock in the liquid heat of his mouth, Stephen was incoherent with lust and had fallen half off the velvet brocade cushions. Crane tortured him for a while longer, treating him to a rhythm that was unbearably languid. Then he withdrew. Stephen opened his eyes, gasping.

“Come on,” said Crane. “Up you come.” He held out a hand and dragged Stephen back up onto the seat. Stephen could only lie bonelessly back against the velvet. He wasn’t sure he could even feel his feet. Was that all? _Is he stopping now?_

“Had enough?” asked Crane, his eyes alight. “Do you want to take a breather?”

Stephen shook his head.

“Tell me what you want, then,” Crane said.

“Please, my lord, please make me come.”

“Well,” said Crane, considering. “You have been quite patient.” He pushed himself up and moved to hover over Stephen. Stephen looked up at him feeling all wide-eyed and willingly preyed-upon. Crane’s eyes kindled and he pounced, kissing him hard, fierce, deep.

When Stephen was breathless again he sat back between Stephen’s outspread legs.

“Give me your hands.”

It took almost all of Stephen’s remaining strength, but he lifted his hands, palm up, in offering to Crane. Crane took them, kissed them, and put them to his face, rubbing Stephen’s palms over his jaw and taking his fingers into his mouth. Stephen moaned as Crane’s tongue played over his sensitive fingertips. Then Crane pressed Stephen’s hands to the side of his face and bent over Stephen’s groin once again.

“Come for me now, Stephen,” he said, his voice warm and caressing. He took Stephen’s cock in his mouth, drawing him in deep. Stephen sunk his fingers into Crane’s hair, arched his back and groaned. Crane’s head moved up and down and Stephen forgot where he was. He was totally consumed by the glorious sensation spreading out from his groin, his fingers and toes turning molten as Crane drew him on towards his crisis. He could feel Crane’s hands spreading him wide, finding out and teasing all his most sensitive places, one finger pressing against his anus and then breaching the seal, sinking in deep as Crane’s mouth worked.

Then—

—fireworks.

Stephen’s back arched, his thighs clenched and he lifted himself upwards as the ecstasy tore through him. He gave a ragged, breathless cry and crumpled, utterly spent.

When he eventually opened his eyes, he saw Crane leaning back against the cushions, watching him with an expression of surprisingly tender satisfaction. He’d pulled Stephen’s thin legs across his lap, and one of his long-fingered hands lay over Stephen’s belly, idly combing at the ginger curls above Stephen’s spent and sleeping member. It felt lovely.

“Lucien,” croaked Stephen. “Thank you.”

Crane grimaced.

“Not at all. Thank _you._ That was vastly entertaining. We must do it again some time.”

Stephen grinned.

“Are we near to Watford yet?”

“Not in the least,” said Crane. “That’s well over an hour away.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

“Lucien . . .”

“Mmm?”

“Would you . . .” Stephen hesitated. He wasn’t sure he could actually stand up. But there still remained the matter of Crane’s beautiful cock, thick with intent and arousal, rearing up from the unbuttoned fly of his trousers. Stephen swallowed.

“Would you take your shirt off? I’d very much like to see you naked.”

Crane gave him an odd look; part puzzlement, part delight. He stood up, towering over Stephen again, and removed his coat, then his waistcoat. His eyes intent on Stephen’s, he untied his elegant cravat, folding it carefully while Stephen waited. It was when he began to unbutton his shirt, revealing the magpies tattooed over his powerful torso, that Stephen felt the first signs that perhaps his own body was not as spent as he’d believed. It said something about how beautiful Crane was that Stephen hardly spared a thought for the fact that Crane’s tattoos were _still moving_ , mesmerised as he was by the glory of Crane’s collarbone, abdomen, and – sweet, merciful Christ – his _shoulders_ as his shirt opened. He watched Crane greedily, hardly believing the piece of luck that saw him positioned to have all this unbearably attractive man’s attention focussed wholly on himself for an entire half a day. Things like this just didn’t usually happen to Day.

“Why me?” he asked suddenly.

“Why you?” Crane looked surprised, pausing in the act of attending to his cufflinks. “I thought we’d covered this. You’re astonishing. And so very fuckable.”

“I’m not astonishing,” mumbled Day.

“Mmm. Perhaps not,” mused Crane. He finished with his cuffs and laid his shirt carefully across the opposite seat, then turned back to Stephen. He put both hands up on the baggage rack and loomed over him in a manner that aggressively displayed his bare torso to advantage. As if to emphasise the point, a magpie tattoo on his right pectoral muscle spread one wing and preened, its beady black eyes on Stephen. Stephen bit his lip. He was actually _trembling_ in desperation for whatever Crane wanted to mete out to him, damn it.

“Perhaps,” Crane continued thoughtfully, “this perverse attraction I have developed is really just some twisted expression of my gratitude over the number of times you’ve saved my life in the last week. Wait, no. Thinking on it, especially the part about exactly _how_ you saved my life, I’m absolutely certain you’re astonishing. Come here.”

He extended a hand. Stephen grasped it and Crane pulled him up and against him. Stephen wrapped his arms around about Crane’s tautly muscled waist while Crane took his face in his hands and kissed him hungrily.

“This is not up for debate, Mr Day,” he murmured, releasing Stephen’s mouth, but barely lifting his head.

“Lucien . . .”

“Stephen.” Crane kissed him again. Long and thoroughly. They swayed together as the carriage rocked gently.

“Now,” said Crane tenderly, right into Stephen’s ear, augmenting his words with a flicker of his tongue across Stephen’s earlobe, “put your hands up against the wall, Mr Day. I want them where I can see them and nowhere near me, because I’m going to fuck you all the way to Watford.”

Stephen was gripped by a delicious shiver.

“Yes, please,” he breathed.

He did as he was told, placing his hands on either side of the stationside door. Slivers of trees and fields flashed by in the cracks between the blinds. But he couldn’t resist looking over his shoulder to watch Crane stripping off his trousers. He sucked in his breath sharply. _Christ!_ The man was magnificent. He cast another doubtful look down at his own undernourished frame. Crane evidently caught him looking and divined his thoughts.

“Not up for debate, Mr Day!” he said sharply. Then he gave Stephen a critical frown. Stephen’s stomach dropped. Was he changing his mind after all?

“No, that won’t work,” said Crane decisively. He reached up and lifted down the picnic basket, set it on the floor and shoved it towards Stephen with a foot. “Stand on that.”

“What?” Stephen looked down at where the cane basket sat against his feet.

“It’s quite sturdy,” said Crane. “I’m sure it will take a lightweight like yourself.”

“But—” He could feel himself blushing. He felt like a child being offered a boost to see some spectacle at a fair. It wasn’t the most arousing thing Crane had demanded of him.

Crane, on the other hand, seemed to enjoy Stephen’s hesitation. And that _was_ arousing. The predatory gleam in his eyes intensified. He stepped up behind Stephen and lifted him unceremoniously onto the basket. Then grabbed his wrists and slapped his hands back upon the wooden panelling. Stephen’s breath left his body in a rush and his cock jumped emphatically.

“If I’m going to fuck you all the way to Watford,” Crane growled into his ear, “I need you where I can reach you. I _don’t_ want to cut this short because I’ve developed a crick in my back.”

He ran his hands over Stephen’s back and down to his hips, drawing Stephen close, pressing against him and exploring the nape of his neck with tongue and teeth. Stephen sighed happily, feeling Crane’s arousal.

 _I’m yours,_ he realised with a jolt. _As long as you want me, I’m yours._ He had no idea how long that would be. But, as Crane trailed more unhurried kisses down Stephen’s thin shoulders and reached around him to pluck at his nipples, sending tiny spangles of sensation ricocheting throughout his body and making him gasp, he thought, _Watford. I’ve at least until Watford._

Then Crane’s hands delved down into the crease of Stephen’s arse, finding him out and spreading him wide. Teasing him open and making him ready. Stephen trembled and whimpered as Crane took his time. When the head of Crane’s glorious cock nudged inside him, thick and hard and slick with oil, he couldn’t help raw sound that escaped his throat as the sheer rightness of the sensation overwhelmed him. Crane purred, pressing into Stephen, the towering solidity of him a delicious warmth against Stephen’s back. He gasped and moaned, barely remembering to keep his hands in place on the wall. Crane began to fuck him with infinite, tender, impossible slowness. Stephen’s nerves lit up with the agonising pleasure of it and he gave another low cry. He was full of Crane, surrounded by Crane, lifted up and held close by Crane. He didn’t want it to end.

 _Edgeware,_ he thought deliriously as Crane bit into his shoulder, just a touch too hard for comfort. He wished this could go on forever with every fibre of his being. If it had to end it had to end. For now, though . . .

_Perhaps we can string it out until Edgeware._


End file.
